


Reign

by Ravelingeudaimonia



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grimm - Freeform, Pre-Remnant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravelingeudaimonia/pseuds/Ravelingeudaimonia
Summary: They built their kingdom with the mightiest of fires, dancing upon remnants of glass and dust. (Based on the conversation between Ozpin and Salem, starting in V1E1 and ending in V3E12.)





	

* * *

  _"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. For when_ _you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

 

“A labyrinth, then?”

She questions as she gazes down the window, irises concealed behind the dark curtain of long lashes, her legs tucked under a silvery fall of heavy fabric, back and spine erect.  Her hands aflight in a flurry of sure, precise moves as she seals and unseals layers of illusion into old tattered parchments and dark shards of black diamonds.

Fine threads of gossamer, she weaves them in a graceful dance of finger and power, until all that remains is a kaleidoscope of colours: enchanting yet fickle in nature, as they often are.

As humans are.

.

.

.

_“Legends. Stories scattered through time. Mankind has grown quite fond of recounting the exploits of heroes and villains, forgetting so easily that we are remnants, by-products, of a forgotten past.”_

_“Man, born from dust, was strong, wise, and resourceful, but he was born into an unforgiving world. An inevitable darkness—creatures of destruction, the creatures of Grimm—set their sights on man and all of his creations. These forces clashed, and it seemed the darkness was intent on returning man's brief existence to the void.”_

_“However, even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change. And in time, man's passion, resourcefulness, and ingenuity led them to the tools that would help even the odds. This power was appropriately named ‘Dust’.”_

_“Nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness. And in the shadow's absence came strength, civilization, and most importantly, life.”_

.

.

.

He stands tall, proud, the ever adamant centre of the universe towering over a dark suit of green, the solemn press of his lips mirrored in the smooth jade tinted surface as his calloused fingers graze against the cold unfeeling piece.

“A labyrinth…?” he echoes, words heavy with bitterness as he draws them out, “No,” he says, the corners of his mouth tilted downward from the unsavoury taste.

She stills her hands.

The light of day flickers as it runs a listless caress over the field of wild Grimm before them. Gentle farmers stand by and watch the herd. The breeze falters at the edge of the bland walls and then wanders in, in hushed steps, humbled by the sombre spell cast about the room.

He seats himself behind the low worn out table, posture mirroring hers, forearms laid bare against the haggard wood, palms tilted upwards.

She furrows her brow, glass earrings tinkling.

“What is a labyrinth but a tangled web of deceit? A case of wasted merit? Where the strong perishes and destiny is left to the hands of the weak, the machination of the fools?”

“No,” he says, his eyes resolute.

“Better to test sword by fire than to have it crumble before the first blood is drawn. Better to raise walls of steel, perched over each a marksman over them your banner held high, than to cower beneath the sweet stench of falsity; the hand holding the dagger concealed by the hand offered in peace.”

And at once the man rises, striding before the moon, before her.

“And so _you_ shall raise them, walls of steel all around you. A bastion, its barracks impregnable, its defence absolute. A castle undeceiving to the barest of eyes and a beckon to all those seeking glory.”

She utters in a soft hum as her fingers edge toward his, hovering a whisper above his palm, there, she stays her hand.

“Tell me then, what shall happen when the last line of defence fails, the last wall crumbles? When it is just you and him, nothing between you but a breath of dust? Who shall the challenge call upon?”

.

_._

_._

_"But even the most brilliant lights eventually flicker and die. And when they are gone, darkness will return. So you may prepare your guardians, build your monuments to a so-called ‘free world,’ but take heed."_

_“There will be no victory in strength.”_

.

.

.

A soft glimmer of mirth blooms in his gaze and the barest flash of teeth become visible in his smile as his hand envelopes her tight stony fist.

“Then, I shall run.”

She tugs her hand free. And seeks to calm the sudden flutter of her enraged heart as the four winds of the seasons whirl swiftly around her and the yawning chasm of memories threatens to swallow her whole. And she is, once again, young and world weary and there he is, an ocean untainted, tranquil waters and untouched sands.

Other worldly her mind had whispered.

Incorruptible her heart had pled.

Yet still, relentlessly, she pushes forward. Like a wave, unwilling, powerless to cease before the inevitable fall.

She cannot lose.

“And what will you do then, stripped bare of the last chunk of armour, flesh whipped raw by the spiteful winds, having outrun the world and void themselves and still hounded by him who won't leave your spoils save for the oblivion?”

Something shifts in the strong set of his jaws then, rippling all around them as the hazel chasm of his eyes gives birth to a breathless song. The hot echoes of which resonate in her blood and she can feel them graze her senses with a feathery touch that sets ablaze an ancient scar of burn in a tell-tale glow of crimson, purple, gold and green.

“Then, I shall fight.”

He breathes as all around them the winds howl and the walls unbound. And she cries in anger, in pain.

And she watches him with unseeing eyes: a searing beacon of light and defiance, all risen sword and soul, as he delivers the world anew from the maw of darkness; leaving in his wake the glorious stench of devastation and blood.

.

_._

_._

_"But perhaps victory is in the simpler things that you've long forgotten. Things that require a smaller, more honest soul."_

.

.

. 

And then it all winds down.

The universe inhales in a hushed gasp and speeds on. The breeze caresses the soft tips of her tresses and lifts up the hems of her long loose sleeves as they gasp for triumph, gazes locked, divided by an invisible thread of silence that gives way to a rift, a crack, an abyss.

And later when the light of the day bleeds into a ghastly black and the universe exhales in a shimmering sigh; her words, barren and acrid, dangle on the edge of uncertainty as her heart laments a merit spoilt.

.

.

. 

_“A smaller, more honest soul. It's true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary. The ability to derive strength from hope is undoubtedly mankind's greatest attribute.”_

.

.

.

She laughs as she realises time begins to freeze. Maybe she can be happy.

There is much happiness in the world.

But ––

.

.

. 

_"Which is why I will focus all of my power to snuff it out."_

.

.

. 

There is still so much pain.

.

_._

_._

_How does it feel? Knowing that all of your time and effort has been for nothing? That your guardians have failed you? That everything you've built will be torn down before your very eyes.”_

_“Your faith in mankind was not misplaced. When banded together, unified by a common enemy, they are a noticeable threat.”_

_“But divide them, place doubt into their minds, and any semblance of power they once had will wash away.”_

_“Of course, they won't realize it at first. Like you, they'll cling to their fleeting hope, their aspirations, but this was merely the first move.”_

_“So you send your guardians, your huntsmen and huntresses, and when they fail and you turn to your smaller soul, know that you send her to the same pitiful demise.”_

.

.

. 

Her mouth becomes firm once more.

“And what then? When the last sword is sundered and our ashes are long scattered to the winds, when you remain and yet so does him. When your visage is his, carved out of ivory and his right hand is your left, raised against the gods. What then, my _love_ , when there is no triumph, no defeat, just an eternity with darkness manifested in shape of a foe, whose mirror image you embedded in your soul?”

And he leans in, over the clutter of scrolls and shards of heavily detailed battle plans, his breath ghosting over her parted lips as he casts her beyond, the jagged edge of her words belied by the unveiled sorrow in her gaze as darkness falls and casts shadows against their eyes.

Fighting a battle over the remnants of who they were; waging a war that could not be won.

"Do not delude us both, dear heart, the fight is ever the compromise.”

Thus stands a tragic sight before him; unrecognisable. 

_She used to be so beautiful._

Plea as he may in a sinister world; she still was so. Amongst the fire, the light and the fury – the same phoenix cannot be reborn.

“And what of the creation of monsters and the destruction of mortal men?”

But amidst his grief, she crowns the world in rage.

“Perhaps it is time they merge as one.”

_._

_._

_._

_This is the beginning of the end, Ozpin. And I can't wait to watch you burn._

.

.

.

Glass glimmers amongst the moonbeams, bending to no alpha.

 

Dust falls in shrouds before the sun, bowing to the influence.

 

The sky begins to fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The full conversation without all my ramblings can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yV6Qsm-DIBQ


End file.
